Mama For a Moment

Today’s guest post (minus the lengthy intro) comes to you from the always transparent Tamara Out Loud. Maile and I had the privilege of meeting her and her family a few weeks ago while traveling through Gainesville, Florida, and she’s just as kind and fun in person as she is in her writing. If you’ve never been over to her blog, you’re missing out – follow the link at the end. She’s an exquisite story-teller and her writing explores the crucial topics we often try to gloss over or avoid.

I’m honored to post this piece by her today because it’s the first time she’s ever shared in writing her story of being a foster mom. It’s also the first time I’ve ever cried in a McDonald’s while reviewing a guest post for my blog.

When she sent it to me, she wrote “This guest post for you made me grieve hard. I’ve never written anything that made me cry like I have tonight…Yet, writing it for you because we once talked about the fact that I’d done fostering and it meant something to your family gave me a push I never would have forced on myself for my own blog. And I think I needed it. So all this to say: thanks, even if you didn’t realize it, for the catharsis of retelling this story in the way I know best.”

And that’s one of the things I love about story-telling: the healing it can bring. So without further delay, Tamara’s story:

* * * * *

The social worker had a thin frame and kind eyes. He hefted the bloated baby as gently as he could through my front door and set him on the family room floor. He gave me the blue folder, thick with legal jargon and cobbled details of a life not yet a year long but already so laden. The sweet boy, immobilized by his own weight, looked up at me with such innocence to his whole situation, eyes like dark chocolate under curled lashes, and all his weight immobilized me too.

I could hardly hold him, and I could hardly not. I sweet-talked him with my mama voice and he felt no need to cry.

We began right away to try to undo the damage of eleven months of neglect. But a boy who’s lived his whole life in a high chair, given food instead of care, isn’t one much for veggies; he certainly can’t crawl. So we were patient and persistent, and after one month in our home, the only junk he had had was his first-birthday cupcake. As he mashed cake and tasted frosted fingers, I’m not sure who delighted more– the darling birthday boy, or the family to whom he already belonged.

And the family who fed him with health and with love was more than my husband, our three kids, and me– it was also the ones whence we came. He’s been gone from our home for four years now, but my grandmother still asks about him and it kills me not to have answers, and my mom still cracks up at memories of him and sniffles back tears at his pictures.

We always knew he wasn’t ours to keep, but that’s true of any child; it doesn’t stop the heart from hoping. And when the placing agent asks if you’d be open to adoption, your brain can get tripped up too. But what can you do, and you just love them, and you pray for their best, never mind yourself, but somehow your self sneaks in.

So I picked him up from daycare each afternoon, and by then he could mightily toddle, and with arms outstretched to the one he knew best, he beamed, “Mama!” and I loved him.

But the call came too soon, and the voice was too harsh. She was his caseworker and I was only his foster mother– a place holder for a real parent, a temporary fix in a state-wide shortage, a volunteer with no rights whatsoever. Not even to advocate for the little one in my care. He’d be picked up the next day and transferred to a foster home closer to the area his transient mother hung near. It would be easier for the agency to coordinate transportation if ever she decided she’d like to see her son.

I grasped madly at wits amid hot tears and laid out in a voice with as little tremor as I could manage his sure benefits in staying. He was thriving; I would drive him to see his mother; we’d make room in our small house for his sister. I don’t know how much was articulated logic and how much, desperate pleas. But it didn’t matter what I said, and she gave herself away in the end: I didn’t know how to raise him anyway– I was white and he was black.

The words slapped my heartbreak into fury, and I spat my demand to speak to her superior. The kinder woman calmed me with embarrassed apology, but sadness, only ebbed, came back and washed me over. And I told her there was just no way I could have him ready the next morning– I needed the weekend to clean all his clothes. But you really can’t prepare a baby to leave what he knows of home, and all the clean clothes a duffel bag can hold buy a mama only so much time.

So we took our small gift of three days, and when the transporters came to take the little boy, they had to stuff goodbye-balloons from enamored daycare teachers beside him in the backseat. And as he looked at me with those beautiful baby eyes, he didn’t know that it was the last time he’d see this mama’s face. But he was fed full of her love.

* * * * *

Tamara Lunardo works out her thoughts on life and faith at Tamara Out Loud, occasionally with adult language, frequently with attempted humor, and hopefully with God’s blessing. She is the editor of What a Woman is Worth, due out this summer through Civitas Press. You can connect with her on Twitter and Facebook.

123 Replies to “Mama For a Moment”

  1. “I could hardly hold him, and I could hardly not.”

    And I love you just a little more, my dear, dear, friend.

  2. Such beautiful words, such awful brokeness. Your story cuts me deep since in some strange way I’m there too. Just a temporary fix, no rights, powerless.

  3. As someone who has been that social worker dropping off the child, I lack the right words to respond to your heartbreak. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You nourished his body and soul and somewhere inside, I have to believe, he knows: I am deeply and fully loved.
    On behalf of “the system” (in which I no longer work) I am so sorry. It is so often broken and there are wonderful social workers who put everything into protecting these babies and they stand up against policy and judges to advocate for ones just like your little boy. There are also workers who are bitter, burnt-out, cynical – hardened. And I am so sorry that you experienced that side.
    Your story touched me more than I can say — I can’t tell you the number of children’s facing that flash into my memory. Their stories (and now yours) are etched inside me. Heartbreaking.

    Amy

    1. First – thank you for sharing Tamara – such a perfect telling of an imperfect story.

      Second – Amy wrote the very words I would write – but so much better. I’ve been the one dropping off the child and the system is unfortunately far from ideal. Of course, no system birthed from abuse and neglect possibly could be… I’m grateful for foster parents like you who serve and love and care when called. I’m also grateful for social workers who walk my agency’s halls who don’t mirror your experience. Both are desperately needed.

    2. Thank you, Amy. I saw the good side too– the workers who had hope for the children and respect for the foster parents. If the system doesn’t entirely collapse, those good men and women will be in large part to thank. Thank you for surely being one of them when it was your time to serve.

  4. Such a touching stary, and it is happenning every day, but never written in such heart-breaking words. What a way for me to start off my day, A story of love in a world of much neglect and abuse. Thanks Tamara for sharing, and thank you Shawn for making it available.

    1. You’re exactly right– it does happen every day. I’m grateful to finally have been able to share this piece of the story so that a few more people could get a glimpse of the reality of foster care.

  5. A beautiful story with a beautiful ending. The ending wasn’t beautiful because it was perfect, but because you gave it what you had. Loved this: “But he was fed full of her love.” It should always be that way.

  6. No wonder you couldn’t write about this. But you did an incredibly beautiful job. Such a cruel world we live in; how impossible it is to hold loosely to the ones we love.

  7. Tamara, thank you for writing this story. I remember walking along that unfathomably long stretch to visit the gators, when you briefly mentioned this topic. I don’t recall if the constant demands of our children or your own hesitancy kept the conversation from blooming, but I know later that evening (and even in recent days) I wondered what story you had to tell. I’m glad you waited and told it here. Such a beautifully heartbreaking portrait of a mother’s heart. Thank you, again.

  8. Oh, Tamara. I scarcely have words for the beauty contained here. I can only imagine the grief that accompanied you and your family after this sweet boy left your home but not your heart. There is a risk in fostering children just as there’s a gift, as you’ve shown here. You filled a gap in a broken system for a time and your son is richer for it. Thank you for gracing us with a part of the story.

  9. For once in my life I have few words. This stirs up a fury inside me of the unfairness of the “system” and the heartbreak of those who fall victim to it. But then, there is the beauty of the love you gave your son and the love he returned. You have forever impacted that little boy in ways that will carry him through life. Thank you for sharing your story in such a beautiful way.

  10. Oh my goodness. I cannot imagine being a foster mother. You wrote about it so eloquently. “But you really can’t prepare a baby to leave what he knows of home, and all the clean clothes a duffel bag can hold buy a mama only so much time.” Wow.

    A woman I used to work with did foster care for decades. She cared for over 80 babies during her tenure. I cannot imagine. My heart could not handle that much leaving. But I am so grateful that there are people like her and you in the world who could.

  11. This: “We always knew he wasn’t ours to keep, but that’s true of any child; it doesn’t stop the heart from hoping.”

    This broke my heart clean in half. Oh, Tamara, how well you love.

  12. That was just so heartbreakingly beautiful. Thank you for sharing this and for loving this boy who needed you.

  13. It is heartbreaking to say goodbye, especially when you have no idea of who, what or where they are going to. I take little ones into my home and its a beautiful thing to see them flourish as they learn what it is to be loved and delighted in. Knowing that I have loved them so much and they have felt that love and nurturing gives me hope for them. They never leave my heart and they are always welcome back to my home.
    Thanks Tamara for talking about something so personal and thanks Shawn for introducing the topic.

  14. What a wonderful story the world needs more people like you being foster parents and writting about the foster care system! My parents have been foster parents for over twenty years, fostering hundreds of children, some only for the weekend, some a few months, and some for years. They are currently finishing up the adoption of the four young brothers who have been in their care for the last year. I myself have been a foster parent for the last 8 years. Too many time has the same thing happened to our family. It never gets easier you just have to believe that god had a reason for sharing a part of the life of that child with you and your family, love them while you have them and teach them to love others and themselves.

  15. Tamara, once again your beautiful writing moves me. I cannot imagine the pain you felt as that child was literally and figuratively ripped from your arms. Being childless, I have a big black hole inside that I have filled up with fur babies instead. Not quite the same, but almost.

    Bless you Tamara. God has a special place in heaven for you.

    1. I am sorry for that big, black hole of yours; I’m glad you’ve found little ones to love and love you back, even if it’s not quite the same. We all just need to know we’re loved.

  16. Foster care is a tragic system to be a part of, full of heartbreak and pain. You were brave to be willing to change this child’s life, Tamara. Thanks for inspiring us all.

  17. “We always knew he wasn’t ours to keep, but that’s true of any child; it doesn’t stop the heart from hoping.”

    Oh I get this. Different scenario but same hope and same heartbreak when she left.

    It’s also why I’ve hesitated to enter foster parenting. We’ve considered special-need fostering, which would most likely be long-term or permanent, but I have to confess that I’m afraid of the pain of heartbreak.

  18. Oh… I’m sorry for the pain you had to go through. I do have one question: Would you say that the pain was worth the moments of joy you had with him?

    Thanks so much for sharing your story when it still hurts.

  19. Tamara…. Your heart amazes me. I’m glad you had the chance to share this, not just because the telling of it is good for us, but because the catharsis, the healing is good for you.

    You did good with your ‘son’ — he may have been temporary in your home, but permanent in your heart. There is hope — you don’t know what’s happening with him, but it’s very possible that he has a family now that is loving and caring for him as well as you did. Well, almost as well as you did! ;-)

    Blessings to you… and once again, thanks for your transparency and sharing your heart.

  20. I’ve been trained to put together words without feeling. In some ways, I’ve been trained not to feel. Every time I read “a Tamara,” the feelings, sensations, and emotions abound. This one was strong. Thank you for what you gave that boy and for doing it knowing the pain that awaited you at the end.

    A question- were you permitted to send anything with him for him to keep as a message or reminder from you so that he would know he was not abandoned by his family, your family? Florida tends to be pretty awful in that regard.

    1. That’s the most gracious use of my name I’ve seen in a while. :) Thank you.

      As you know, our state system is severely messed up, but thank God that was something we were allowed. We made a little memory box for him, and I feel like sending it with him was a gift for us as well.

  21. I have no words (only a lot of tears) after reading this, but I had to say thank you for sharing your heart with us, and more importantly sharing your heart with that boy who was in your life for too short of a time.

  22. I can’t even imagine the joy and heartbreak this experience brought you. you are truly a strong woman for enduring this.

  23. Thank you for sharing your story, Tamara. And thank you for loving that little baby boy with reckless abandon.

    My parents were foster parents and growing up I had about 20 different foster brothers and sisters ranging from 6 day old crack babies to troubled teenagers.

    The system is broken, it’s not fair and it’s not logical. I hope that you will continue to heal and that sharing this post will bring you much love and encouragement.

    Your children are blessed and lucky to have you as their mom.

    1. Thanks for your kindness, friend. How cool that you got to grow up in a home like that– I have to think, if done well, it shapes the biological children for the better.

  24. Thank you for sharing your story… I am also a foster parent who has just experienced a very traumatic loss of my foster children.
    I had 2 siblings who came to me when they both were infants and just recently, they were reunited to their birth mother.
    I cared and loved these children for 4 1/2 yrs. It took 4 1/2 yrs for the system fail. 3 yrs of court hearings when they decided to try and terminate, which took another year. And when they tried to Terminate rights, they failed due to simply a job not well done by the case worker. In the end, they had to reunify and needless to say, I am completely heart broken. You are not alone ~! Thanks for letting ME share too.

  25. I’m also a foster mom and 2 yrs. ago we got a 4 month old baby girl.She was with us until 15 mo. old and we got so attach to Niayiah and to this day yet we’re in contact with her mom and Niayiah.we have her overnight visits with about every 5 weeks.It’s such a rewarding work,even though you feel like crying when they leave.Love-Anna Ruth

  26. I have worked with many foster families. The ones who put their hearts into it are always the ones who touch me and touch the children. For some children this is the only ray of light they will have to cherish years down the road. I hate your pain, but I know that you know it was worth it.

  27. We are in the exact same spot right now. We love this baby boy. His mom only sees black and white… I see a baby boy who needs love, understanding when he is cranky because he is detoxing from the drugs from his bio mom…or thinks he’s hungry but had just eaten or can not control his body because his mother chose herself over him…but she doesn’t see the love we have for him… To show him love, and Jesus. All she sees is black and white and she is trying her hardest to get him removed from our home…I asked my husband what is the point of all this…he said “if you give a little one a drink of water in my name you do it unto me”. That helped me…but my heart just loves him and hurts at the same time. Thanks for your post…it’s encouraging to know we aren’t alone… Sorry for your pain.

  28. :’)

    My cousins have been foster parents for years and so I have seen their pain, and felt some of it, when those kids that our family has poured so much love into, taken away. Happy ending though–they’ve finally been able to adopted two boys that they’ve had for over 5 years. I really admire foster parents. They have got to be some of the strongest people in the world.

    1. Foster parents really do need to be stronger than I am. I’m so glad your cousins can keep at it, and congrats to your family on the new additions. :)

  29. I have been the transporter and the caseworker. I have cried with broken foster parents and I have watched biological parents’ hearts literally crumble with the smack of a gavel. I have bawled my eyes out- and still do. Most tearing of all- I have driven with screaming, aching, torn and confused babies from birth to 13 years old. There is no right answer, there is no easy way. There is no simple solution. But I pray not one of us in this journey of protecting and helping the families and children of abuse ever become jaded or calloused. Our tears make it real. And that is exactly what these children and their families need- real. tangible. full. unhindered.

    1. Thanks Brandi – your words ring very true. No one goes into child protection work with a hard heart. But the things you see can accumulate over time to become what we in Australia call ‘vicarious trauma’. I have a pretty good relationship with most of the people who I ‘work/volunteer’ with and I know they value my contribution as a carer but there are times when you shake you head and wonder.

  30. “We always knew he wasn’t ours to keep, but that’s true of any child; it doesn’t stop the heart from hoping.” Oh, how this speaks to my breaking heart. We live in China and foster a little boy who does not have an adoptable status. We thought he would stay with us for a while and then we would help him transition into an adoptive family. Instead, we have had him for a year and a half and will soon be releasing him into an uncertain future in his country. Yes, our hearts are full of our love for him and yes, his heart is full of our love for him. We hope for a miracle but are dealing with the practical reality of trying to prepare for his best future. It’s a tough, tough reality.

    1. It’s so hard, especially when it doesn’t go the way we’ve tried to prepare ourselves for. You can find me at tamaraoutloud @ gmail .com if ever you’d like to talk.

  31. So much heart in so few words. “…with arms outstretched to the one he knew best, he beamed, “Mama!” and I loved him.” So poetic. Tears have told this tale. Thank you.

  32. Oh dear, Tamara. I read this yesterday with some interruptions and knew it was good, but also that it didn’t fully sink in. I knew I needed to be alone to give it another read.

    Today was the day for the tears.

  33. Through your words, I have a tiny fraction of the heartbreak of that farewell. That tiny fraction is enough to have me crying in a coffee shop, wishing you’d had more time, hoping he’ll be OK and feeling so thankful you shared this, despite the heartbreak. My heart has been opened further by your sharing these beautiful, heartbreaking words from a beautiful heart.

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